


The Addleton Atrocity

by Ina MacAllan (inamac)



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Doyle
Genre: Action/Adventure, Detectives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-11
Updated: 2010-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/Ina%20MacAllan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson investigate a death in Surrey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Addleton Atrocity

# The Addleton Atrocity

 

"When I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our work for the [year] 1894... I find an account of the Addleton tragedy and the singular contents of the ancient British barrow."

_The Golden Pince-Nez_

Dr. John H. Watson

Editor's Note:

The following manuscript was found in the papers of Professor James Malinson, fellow of the Society, during the recent renovations to the library. The manuscript pages had apparently been cut from a larger volume and were accompanied by the attached letter.

_My dear Malinson,_

Although I have not vouchsafed to include the following tale among those which I have entrusted to my great friend and editor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for publication in the pages of 'The Strand' magazine, I believe that there are some aspects of the case which will be of interest to the members of the Society. I have therefore extracted the enclosed pages from the record prior to depositing the remainder of my papers with my bank.

 

Your affectionate friend,

 

Dr. John Watson.

* * * *

The summer of 1894 was warm and humid. Even for one used to the rigours of India's climate our rooms in Baker Street were not the most comfortable of places. Holmes, however, had steadfastly refused to leave the City for the cooler countryside despite my urging. So we drew the blinds to keep out the sunlight and the flies which had proliferated in the almost tropical heat, and applied ourselves to what work had come our way in recent weeks.

In my own case this was considerable, for heat increases many medical conditions and, as my colleagues had sensibly vacated the city for cooler climes, I had a number of patients who would not normally have come to my small surgery. Holmes, though, had little to exercise his formidable intellect. When I entered our rooms one hot afternoon on my return from a visit to a patient in the suburbs, I had to duck swiftly to avoid the bow of his violin which he had hurled across the room in a characteristic fit of anger.

"This is useless!" he exclaimed, "This weather denies me even the consolation of music. What instrument could stay in tune for one minute in such a climate? It is a wonder that the Greeks attributed the making of string instruments to a solar deity. He would have been better employed in inventing the bassoon!"

"I trust that you are not considering taking up that instrument, Holmes? Our neighbours might not appreciate it."

My friend's anger did not blind him to the value of his instrument, he placed the violin on the table with more care than he had shown with the bow and flung himself into his chair. "Our neighbours are out of town, Watson. Everyone is out of town at present. Even the criminals, it seems."

"Perhaps we should join them?" I suggested.

He looked up sharply at me over his steepled fingers. "I am sorry, Watson. I am not the best of companions at present. Your own morning, however, appears to have afforded some interest and activity. The lady's problem appears to have engaged your sympathy, and I am sure that, despite your feelings to the contrary, it will afford me some diversion. Let me pour some of Mrs. Hudson's excellent iced lemonade and you can tell me about it."

I took the glass from him and sat in my own chair.

"Holmes," said I, "I have expressed surprise before at your apparently psychic powers of reading the thoughts of others, but in this case you have anticipated not only my thoughts but my reluctance to bring them to your attention."

"That is, as always, merely the result of simple deduction and a little applied knowledge of the facts. When you departed for your surgery this morning you were not wearing the flower which I now see wilting in your buttonhole. I deduce therefore that at some time during the day you received a message to attend upon a lady patient and took the opportunity to purchase the blossom from the flower seller who had a pitch at the end of the road. The lady cannot live far distant, or you would have taken a cab. The visit must have been a long one, for the flower is not fresh. Had you returned to your surgery thereafter you would doubtless have disposed of it before returning here. However the lady must have told you something which made you decide to come straight here to discuss it with me. But your step on the stair was hesitant, you were wondering whether, the problem would be sufficiently outré to engage my attention. You may set your mind at rest on that point, for at present I should be prepared to attend to anything to that will take my mind from this oppressive heat."

"You are, as usual, quite correct, Holmes. Save in one at particular. I took the liberty of asking Lady Addleton to call and tell you her story herself. She will be here within the hour."

I was gratified to see Holmes' surprise.

"A titled lady, Watson? Ah, with such patronage you will soon need to move your practice closer to Regent's Park."

I explained that the lady had consulted me only because her usual physician was out of the country, but it did not diminish his interest.

"Nevertheless," he said, rising to go to the bookcase, a "let us employ the time in finding out more about the Addleton family."

Thus it was that when, some thirty minutes later, Mrs. Hudson knocked upon our door and ushered in the charming lady whose acquaintance I had made earlier that day, Holmes greeted her with an acknowledgement of her full rank and in title.

Lady Cynthia Addleton was that type of woman who is the backbone of the English nobility. Although no more than twenty eight years of age her strong jaw and steely grey eyes spoke of a forceful personality well capable of keeping her servants and horses in check. Her complexion was fair, though touched with the redness which affects any woman who spends time in country pursuits. Her dress, as befitted a lady recently widowed, was of fine quality ebony silk, light enough for the humid weather but of a severe cut more suited to a dowager of twice her years. Only the slight shake of her long-fingered hand as she offered it to Holmes showed some of the nervousness which had earlier prompted me to suggest this meeting.

"Mr. Holmes, I trust that you will forgive me for intruding on your time. Doctor Watson was most sympathetic when he visited me earlier and I fear that I accepted his invitation to tell you my story without considering how busy you must be."

Her courtesy was calculated to completely disarm any protest which my friend might have made, and he acknowledged it with an uncharacteristic bow.

"Not at all, dear lady. My time is entirely at your disposal. Please, be seated."

She seated herself in the armchair close to the cold grate and, sitting ramrod straight with her slender hands folded in her lap, embarked upon the narrative which had so engaged my interest that morning.

"You must understand," said she, "that my husband's family are what the French term the 'nouveau riche'. The Earldom was bestowed upon my father-in-law in recognition of his diplomatic work in Singapore and Malaysia earlier this century. Upon his return to this country he purchased property in London and the Surrey estate which passed, with the title, to my husband, some three years ago.

"The first Earl was an enthusiastic plant collector, and the grounds of the house contain a number of rare specimen trees and shrubs planted by him. Their chief feature, however, is the ancient mound which lies scarcely half a mile from the house and is known as the Addleton Barrow."

Holmes, who had been listening intently, nodded. "The first Earl took his title from the Barrow, I understand?"

She nodded. "Yes. Though he apparently paid little attention to it during his lifetime. My husband, however, perhaps influenced by a childhood spent in the shadow of the mound, is a keen archaeologist. He has published several papers dealing with the distribution and contents of such ancient earthworks in England. Unfortunately, owing to his father's unreasonable conviction that the Addleton barrow held some malignant influence, he was unable to indulge his curiosity about the contents of the barrow until he succeeded to the title. As soon as a decent period of mourning had elapsed he set about making the measurements of the site necessary before starting on a properly scientific investigation.

"The work of preparation took nearly two years and it was not until this summer that the group of like-minded archaeologists who my husband had invited to assist him were able to start digging into the central chamber of the barrow."

At this point in her narrative the lady hesitated, twisting her hands together as if to prevent betraying any trace of nervousness. Holmes leaned forward in his own chair to prompt her.

"And? I take it that the excavation bore fruit?"

"They found bones, Mr. Holmes."

The blunt statement was delivered in melodramatic tones quite different from the rest of her narrative. Holmes nodded sagely.

"Surely that was to be expected within a burial mound?"

"Of course it was what my husband expected. What he had not anticipated was to find, upon closer examination, that they were the bones of apes!"

If she had anticipated a startled response to her dramatic revelation she was not to receive it from Holmes.

"It does not take a detective of any great perspicacity to deduce that your husband was the victim of a hoax, madam. And a rather simple one, it seems. To a trained archaeologist there is all the difference in the world between the skull of an ape and that of a man, even if the man is merely one of Mr. Darwin's primitives."

"My husband would have agreed with you, Mr. Holmes, indeed, he was inclined to dismiss them and decided to proceed with the excavation of the mound. On Monday last week he went up to the site to make some further measurements in the chamber. He was there all day, which was not unusual, for when he was absorbed he lost all track of time. As the hour for dinner approached I heard a sound outside the conservatory, on that part of the path which leads from the house to the mound. I set aside my needle and..."

At this point in her narrative the stern resolve which had enabled her to tell the story thus far deserted her. Her hands flew to her face and I saw tears start in those steely eyes. Her voice broke on a sob.

"It was... it was horrible. He was lying there, on the path where he had managed to drag himself. His clothes were filthy with mud and... and covered with a viscous slime which had eaten into his exposed flesh like acid. He was scarcely recognisable. As I reached him he looked up at me with that ravaged face and gasped out the words which were to be his last; 'The barrow,' he said, 'destroy the thing in the barrow.' Mr. Holmes, I will remember those words until I die."

My friend rose to his feet and paced the room while I attended to giving what comfort I could to the distraught woman. After some minutes, when her sobs had abated and she had regained some of her former composure, he returned to stand over her.

"And what steps have you taken, madam, to carry out your husband's dying wish?"

"I could not ask anyone else to risk their life in entering that horrible place. I ordered the entrance to the chamber to be boarded up and a stout barrier to be placed across the path."

"Good. And the place where you found your husband? Has that, too, been isolated?"

"It is the lower part of the path between the barrow and the conservatory. It is seldom used and, since the... tragedy, no one has had reason to go there."

Holmes rubbed his hands together with ill-timed delight. "Excellent. Then all is much as it was on that day. It is much easier to properly investigate such matters when all the evidence is undisturbed. If you would permit us, Lady Addleton, I should like to visit the scene as soon as possible. Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient?"

"I would be delighted if you would come, Mr. Holmes. My home is entirely at your disposal. and I assure you that you may have anything which you think will be necessary to discover the reason for my husband's terrible death. I am returning this evening. If it is convenient for you and Doctor Watson I will arrange for my carriage to meet the two thirty train at Addleton Halt tomorrow."

"That would be excellent."

She rose, now fully in control of herself, and accepted her parasol from me with a smile. "Thank you, doctor. Your medicine may be unconventional, but I assure you that a dose of Mr. Holmes has done more than any drugs could to set my mind at rest."

*****

The following afternoon, as we descended from the train at the little halt which served the Addleton estate, we found that Lady Addleton had not only arranged for her carriage to meet us, but that she was sufficiently recovered from her ordeal to drive the elderly four-wheeler herself. She kept the matched bays to a smart pace and described some of the features of the estate as we travelled.

The gardens were extensive and, although the lawns were parched brown by the long, hot summer, the weather had brought into flower a number of the foreign trees and shrubs for which the park was famous. The house itself, set at the head of a long, curving drive, between a double avenue of tall elms and twisted gingkoes, was a new building, of dark local flint and red brick, in dour contrast with the exotic blooms which framed it. The smooth curved bulk of the Addleton Barrow rose to the west. Holmes barely gave Lady Addleton time to bring the vehicle to a halt before he had leapt from his seat and was striding around the house to inspect the mound. My own descent was more decorous. My inadequate apologies for Holmes' precipitate behaviour were accepted with a smile, the first I had seen upon that concerned face.

"Please, Doctor, I do understand Mr. Holmes' motives. And I am sure that you would like to join him. Please, do not wait on my account. That wicket gate leads to the Barrow. I will join you myself when I have seen to the horses."

Thus relieved by the lady of my duties as her guest, I hurried after Holmes and found him kneeling half-way along the path where it forked. He rose at my approach and brushed dust from the knees of his trousers. His cane traced the line of the path in the hard packed earth.

"This appears to be the main path to the mound, Watson. And that must be the way back to the conservatory. There is no sign here that anyone, or anything, has passed this way since Monday, when the gate was locked. It seems that Lady Addleton's servants are to be trusted to obey her orders."

"Or they were too frightened to dare to disobey."

"Quite, Watson. Well, we have no such fears. Come, let us take a look at this archaeological curiosity." So saying he shouldered his cane and strode up the slope of the path with a gaiety of step which was quite unlike his listlessness of recent weeks. The fresh Surrey air and the challenge of the case had quite restored his spirits.

The path wound through a thick stand of rhododendrons and ended at a low iron gate set in a railing which surrounded the whole of the mound. The gate was latched, and barred with a thick strand of wire wound through the railing and hook of the latch. Holmes examined it carefully before he untwisted it with a few deft motions of his long fingers and, released from its tether, the gate swung open under its own weight. We passed through and I noted, as I replaced the wire loosely around the latch, that it had not, apparently, been tampered with prior to our arrival.

Holmes had already hurried ahead and had reached the entrance to the barrow. The excavators had dug a single passage directly into the sloping east side of the mound. The entrance was square, and the earth sides had been prevented from caving in with stout wooden planks, similar to those used by miners to keep their tunnels open.

When I joined him Holmes was examining a group of objects which had been left leaning against one of these planks. He had picked up a slender folded tripod surmounted by a contraption of gears and wheels which appears to be an instrument of the sort used by surveyors, and was examining the surface of the feet through his glass. A stout ebony ruler, a storm lantern, and a coil of twine lay on the ground beside them.

"Lady Addleton told us that her husband had been carrying out a survey of the barrow," he said. "These appear to be his tools."

"Like the path, they do not appear to have been disturbed," I remarked.

Holmes nodded and took up the lantern. "No. Everything appears to be just as he left it. And that, in itself, is strange."

I had no opportunity to question his remark for he turned at once and, having lit the lamp, made his way into the interior of the barrow.  
The tunnel dug from the earth by the archaeologists was low and very narrow. More heavy timber props had been used at intervals along the length of the passage, until a point where the interior of the original tomb had been breached and the slabs of rock erected by the ancient British builders formed a semi-circular chamber some five feet high and fifteen feet across. The chamber contained a rough-hewn altar or bier of local sandstone but was otherwise completely empty.

Holmes examined the slab minutely and then began to cast about methodically in the chamber as was his custom in examining the scene of any crime. I confess that the damp of the tomb and the difficulty of negotiating that narrow passage had aggravated my old wound and I took the opportunity to regain my breath by sitting on the slab. I did not pay a great deal of attention to my friend's activities, although in truth there did not seem to be anything within that bare chamber which could have caused the horrific injuries and death described by Lady Addleton. I was surprised, then, when Holmes gave an exclamation and called me to examine a part of the chamber at the edge of the excavated passage.  
He lifted the lamp high to illuminate the place where the stone slabs met the natural earth wall of the barrow.

"Do you see, Watson? This must be the place where the ape skulls were found. The soil is darker than the surrounding clay, and here are the marks where the archaeologists used their trowels to dig the skulls out." He paused, and looked across the chamber to the altar. His eyes narrowed with a puzzled frown and I confess that I shared his surprise.

"Surely, Holmes, if the apes had been intended to emulate the victims of some primitive rite, they would have been placed in the centre of the chamber?"

"Indeed, Watson. If they had been so intended." He swung round abruptly, setting the lamp swinging so that shadows skipped across the stone walls. "Well, there is nothing more to be seen here. Let us trace the Earl's last fatal journey. This way, I think."

So saying he hurried down the passageway pausing only at the entrance to douse the lamp and replace it among the tools there before plunging down through the gate and along the rhododendron-fringed path. He stopped abruptly when he reached the fork, however, for Lady Addleton was waiting there.

"Mr. Holmes," said she, "Have you found anything?"

"Madam, I have found nothing - that I did not expect to find. Tell me, was your husband in the habit of leaving his tools in disarray?"

She looked startled, and her eyes seemed large in a face already white with strain. "No, Mr. Holmes. Edwin was a meticulously tidy man. Of course, if he had been startled at his work I doubt he would have stayed to clean his equipment..."

"I see. Well, if it would not pain you too much, would you show us where you found him?"

"Of course. It was on this path, a little further down." She turned and led the way down the path towards the house. The rhododendrons gave way to a neat kitchen garden on one side and a long, dilapidated orangery which ran along the south wall of the house and terminated in an elaborate white-painted conservatory of more modern style. Some ten feet from the corner of the house Lady Addleton stopped and indicated the point where her husband had met his bizarre end.

Holmes knelt at once and subjected the area to an intense scrutiny, both through his lens and by touch. At length he straightened, rubbing a sample of the coarse earth between his fingers.

"This is fascinating. Do you see, Watson? There is a trace here of some sticky substance, like gelatin or syrup. There is a distinct trail along this part of the path. But we found no trace of it near the mound." He turned to the lady. "Forgive me if I must arouse unpleasant memories, Lady Addleton, but is this the precise spot where you discovered your husband's body?"

She nodded. "Yes, exactly."

"Good. And you came as soon as you heard him call?"

"Yes."

"From the conservatory?"

"Yes. As you see, it is quite close. At the end of the path."

He nodded, and inspected the shattered glass and boarded doors of the orangery. "Is there any other way into the house from here?"

"Why no. It was most inconvenient, for this is the warmest side of the house. The first Earl built the orangery specifically to raise his tropical plants and insisted that there should be no connection between the house and the greenhouse. I do not think that he trusted his servants not to disturb his valuable blooms. The place was kept locked and he and the gardener held the only keys. The experiment was not a success, as you see. We had the conservatory built last year and we did intend to have the orangery demolished to enable us to open the rooms on that side of the house to the light."

Holmes stepped across the path and leaned forward to rub at the grime which smeared the cracked windows. The stuff was as thickly encrusted on the inside of the pane as upon the exterior and it was impossible to see anything within. Holmes apparently came to the same conclusion and stepped back again. Before Lady Addleton or I could make a move to stop him he seized his cane and swung the head forcibly against one of the filthy panes of glass. It cracked and shattered. A musty scent, as of old straw and decay drifted from a gaping hole easily large enough for a man to thrust his head through, which action Holmes proceeded to carry out. His voice sounded hollow from the interior of the orangery.

"Lady Addleton, was your husband likely to have come in here on his way back from the barrow?"

"I do not think so, Mr. Holmes. As I said, he had no interest in the gardens, and the gardener has the only other key. As you see, he uses the place to store his tools. It is closer to the kitchen garden than the old storage shed."

"I see." Holmes extricated himself, not without some difficulty, for the edges of the shattered glass were very sharp. "And closer to the kitchen, perhaps? I believe I can smell your luncheon beef."

Lady Addleton looked puzzled. "No. The kitchens are beyond the conservatory."

I grinned. "A dead rat, perhaps, Holmes? The place certainly smells like a hanging room."

An expression passed across Holmes' face which I knew well. He had found the solution to the mystery. My plea for him to reveal it received an equally familiar response.

"In good time, Watson, all in good time. There are one or two loose ends which I should like to look into first. For example, there are the ape skulls. Do you have them here, Lady Addleton?"

"Yes. They are in my husband's study. He had placed them with his collection of ancient artifacts, although I know that he had some doubt about their authenticity. If you would care to take tea in the drawing room I shall fetch them to you."

The drawing room was on the north side of the house, with a splendid view across the park. As we waited for Lady Addleton to fetch the mysterious ape skulls I again tried to persuade Holmes to share his opinions on the case.

"My dear Watson," said he, "you have as much information as I; more, indeed, for you have heard the charming lady tell her tale twice over. What conclusions have you reached?"

"Well, I did not know Lord Addleton, but many archaeologists are superstitious people. There are tales of haunted harrows and cursed tombs. I wondered whether he might not have been frightened to death by some prankster, or the fancies of his own imagination."

He nodded. "That thought had crossed my mind. But you have seen the barrow. Lord Addleton appears to have been a meticulous scholar. The instruments were neatly set out, and there are no signs of disturbance which might indicate some fatal horseplay. And we must not overlook that trail of slime by the conservatory, or the smell in the orangery. No, I fear that we must look for some more tangible cause for his Lordship's demise."

Further conversation was forestalled by the entrance of the lady of the house bearing a specimen tray on which rested the fragmentary remains of two skulls. Holmes passed me the more intact of the pair and moved to the window to examine the fragments of the other in the light.

Knowing something of Holmes' methods I applied myself to a minute inspection of the skull, but beyond the fact that it was clearly that of one of the great apes, and that it had lain in the earth for long enough to become discoloured and partly eaten away by decomposition, there was little to learn. I was somewhat surprised when, some moments later, Holmes set down the tray and turned to the lady who was waiting anxiously for his decision.

"Yes, it is clear now what happened. And you must carry out your husband's dying wish at once, Lady Addleton, if others in this household are to be spared a like fate."

Her hand flew to her throat in a gesture of both relief and horror. "Destroy the barrow, Mr. Holmes? But..."

"The 'thing in the barrow', Lady Addleton. And I shall do it myself, now, to spare you any further distress. I think that fire will be best. It has a cleansing effect. Do you have lamp-oil and matches?"

Lady Addleton's hand flew again to her throat in distress. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, they are kept in the hall."

"Good. Then we shall collect them on our way out. Come."

He strode from the room with a resolution which I had seen before only when he was on the trail of some notorious criminal. In this case it seemed that he was bent upon the destruction of a priceless British monument, and Lady Addleton and I hastened after him, through the hall, where he had paused to collect the instruments of destruction, and out of the conservatory onto the path to the mound. To our surprise he halted at the door to the orangery and turned to the lady.

"Your pardon, I should have asked you to bring the keys. Do you have them?"

"I... no. The gardener.. ."

"No matter. You have said that the place is to be demolished and a little more damage should be of no consequence." So saying he again lifted his stick and, as before, used the heavy end to smash two more panes and to bend the frames sufficiently to allow ingress. When the lady and I had composed ourselves sufficiently to follow him we found him standing amid the stacks of gardeners tools at the end of the building, where a shaft of sunlight shone through a rainwashed skylight onto what appeared to be a tangle of rotting sacking in an elderly wooden wheelbarrow. A foul smell, like that of rotting meat, hung over the scene.

As we approached Holmes uncorked the bottle of oil and dashed the contents over the barrow. Before either of us could stop him he had applied a match to the surface and the whole barrow seemed to erupt in a pillar of flame.

"There!" said Holmes, stepping back to watch the conflagration, "there is your murderer. That vile vine brought back from the jungles of Sumatra by your ancestor, lying dormant here until this hot summer brought it to flower."

He would have continued but at that moment, overcome by the heat of the flames, and the horror of his revelation, Lady Addleton fainted into my arms.

*****

It was not until that evening, in the homely surroundings of our rooms in Baker Street, that Holmes had the opportunity to reveal to me the steps of reasoning that had led to his dramatic revelation.

"My suspicions," said he, "were aroused immediately upon hearing of the dying words of the victim. Archaeologists and antiquarians are an acquisitive species. Even those who had supposedly fallen victim to the notorious 'Curse of the Pharaohs' have not advocated the destruction of the tombs, or their contents. They are more inclined to order their preservation and investigation. In this case the barrow itself confirmed my suspicions. There was nothing within which could be destroyed, save only Lord Addleton's own instruments, and they were neatly set out by the door, he apparently left the barrow in good order and with every intention of returning to carry out his work, There was no sign, in fact, that anything amiss had occurred there which might have caused the death."

Holmes paused to fill his pipe.

"I therefore concluded that Lord Addleton had met his killer after leaving the barrow, but before reaching that point on the path where his wife had found him. Accordingly I proceeded to examine the path which he had taken and there I found traces of the strange slime which Lady Addleton mentioned. The trail clearly led to the door of the orangery. I concluded that his Lordship had, for some reason, gone into the orangery, to which he had the key, on his return from the mound. As soon as I smashed the glass the reason for his curiosity became clear, for there was a distinct, but fading smell as if of rotting meat, a smell which must have been much stronger a few days earlier to have been noticeable from the path. As you know, I ascertained that as the orangery did not connect with the house there was not chance that the smell might have been carried from the kitchens."

"But Holmes," I protested, "might it not have been a dead rat, or some other animal, injured, which had crawled into the shelter of the orangery to die?"

He smiled. "It might," said he. "I did not reject your suggestion out of hand, Watson. But I remembered that the first Earl of Addleton served in Malaysia, and that he was a collector of rare plant species. There are plants of a certain vine, a native of Sumatra, which was discovered in the early years of this century by Sir Stamford Raffles, a man who shared the Earl's enthusiasm. The flowers of the vine have a characteristic smell like that of rotting meat which they use to attract the flies which pollinate it. There are other plants from those jungles which attract flies and small creatures upon which they feed. It did not seem impossible that the first Earl of Addleton, with his interest in tropical species, might have succeeded in breeding some sort of hybrid capable of attracting, and killing, creatures much larger than the insects of the tropical forests. If he did so then the work must have been carried out in secret, and he would have needed some sort of test subjects and a means of disposing of the remains."

"The apes! " I exclaimed.

Holmes nodded. "Indeed. The skulls, as you saw, showed signs of having been partly eaten away by some toxic substance before they were deposited in the mound. They were doubtless the victims of the first Earl's experiments, and the reason why he would not allow the mound to be properly excavated in his lifetime, or allow any of his servants, save the gardener, who must have known the secret, into the orangery. If he had done so, or if his successor had carried out his plan to destroy the orangery earlier, before this year's unusually hot weather had roused the plant from its dormant state, this dreadful tragedy would not have happened. I can only hope that the thing in the barrow was the only one of those terrible plants to have survived our English winters. I should not like to think that there are still other vegetable horrors lying dormant in the quiet acres of Surrey Green."

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 'Enigma 14' in 1992. Edited by Cimorene.
> 
> The quotation at the beginning is from canon ('The Golden Pince-Nez') - this is one of the 'unrecorded' Holmes stories.


End file.
